


Our Little Secret

by Firegirl210



Category: Sparks Nevada Marshal on Mars, The Thrilling Adventure Hour
Genre: Alien Sex, And possibly showing of feet, First Time, Galactic Trail, M/M, Smut, Some egg sack stimulation may be involved, hell yeah, space boyfriends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-05
Updated: 2015-03-05
Packaged: 2018-03-16 12:11:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3487772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Firegirl210/pseuds/Firegirl210
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens on the Galactic Trail stays on the Galactic Trail.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Our Little Secret

The sun shone bright and sharp on the Martian landscape, warming the shoulders of the human and the native riding side by side. Spring was in the air, and life crept up through the iron rich dirt to get a breath of it. The duo could feel it; they were young and alive like the rest of the world.

“Hey Croach, how far off do you reckon that there canyon is?” the human male asked, gesturing to the dusky cliff face in the distance, and the blue-skinned denizen of G’loot Praktaw squinted against the blazing light.

“Four of your units of measurements designated miles,” he relayed, and his companion grinned.

“Race you.”

“You are on, Sparks Nevada.”

They took off across the plains, Mercury’s hooves kicking up dust, the jets of Croach’s hoversaddle blowing aside the heads of curious weeds peeking through the soil. The ground curved beneath them as they thundered through a small dale where a stream trickled amiably. A field of light purple flowers had taken the opportunity to blossom and clouds of yellowish pollen whirled up at their passing. Sparks sneezed violently, and Croach zipped through the narrow canyon entrance ahead of him.

“Winner!”

“Aw c’mon Croach, I’m--aCHOO!--not ridin’ my best--acHOO!--on account a this sneeze attack!”

“Yes, blame the reproductive dust of the indigenous flora.”

“What? I’m blamin it cuz it’s its fault!”

“Of course. You are right, Sparks Nevada.”

“Don’t, don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Take that tone like’n you’re just humorin’ me.”

“I would never do such a thing to you, Sparks Nevada.”

“I’da beaten you in a fair ride and you know it.”

“If believing that will make your fragile human emotions less offended, then you may believe whatever you wish.”

“You know what, shut up. C’mon, we might as well pitch camp here by the river for the night.”

They dismounted and set about organizing camp: rustling up and cleaning a prairie rabbit to stew, some roots and berries for tea, collecting firewood and scrub kindling, and actually starting the fire--which Sparks insisted on doing without the help of his laser pistols. By the time they’d undertaken all the aforementioned tasks, the sun began to slant towards the horizon, and they began to get antsy.

It happened often enough--the two of them spent many nights in the starry darkness trying to ignore the pressure building beneath their skin, pulling tight and forcing blood too rapidly through narrow veins. Once or twice one had reached for the other, only to abort anxiously inches from the contact they denied desiring.

“Hand me that cup, wouldja Croach?”

The Martian passed the tin cup to the human, and their fingers brushed briefly. Sparks started back as if the contact had burned him, and he laughed uncomfortably before picking it up and filling it with a scoop of workjuice coffee grounds as the pot of water bubbled cheerfully. He gestured with it at his companion.

“Want some?”

Croach’s antennae quivered distastefully. “I do not care for this particular human beverage.”

“Really? I feel like I could use some.”

“Are you certain? You are already quite tense, and your blood is rich in the stimulant adrenaline. Is it wise to also introduce the stimulant caffeine into such a combustible mixture of hormones?”

“What? Why would my blood have any adrenaline in it, it’s just you an’ me cookin’ dinner.”

“I am only stating facts, I do not pretend to understand their causes based in human biology.”

Sparks squinted suspiciously at his martian, then rolled his eyes. “Whatever,” he mumbled, devoting his attention to his coffee. Croach had nothing else to focus on, and he found his eyes drifting to the rugged form of his friend.

Croach knew that Sparks was not necessarily considered handsome by human terms; his nose was crooked from being broken half a dozen times, his orangeish hair was always unkempt, he wore ridiculous bowties and bandanas, and his slimness bordered on scrawny. But his smile flashed, his confidence radiated, and his eyes varied in color from teal to ocean grey to forest green, and the Martian couldn’t help but to sometimes take notice.

He did try not to. Strange, unsettling feelings had been stirring inside him for a long time--longer than he cared to admit, really. Maybe from the very start, if he was honest with himself. Not that he ever was. The Marshal’s frequent over-adamant pronouncements of Croach’s repulsiveness put a stop to any action the Martian may have considered taking.

Those stirrings were a roar tonight, and he swallowed and turned his gaze to the fire guiltily as he felt his eggsacs swell slightly. Sparks Nevada was a friend who possessed no sexual or romantic attraction to him; he knew this for a fact.

Sparks Nevada was tense for a reason. He felt the prismed black eyes of the Martian on him with peculiar intensity, and although the thought of Croach keeping an eye on him was usually a surprisingly comforting one, it felt different tonight. It felt heavy, and made the back of Nevada’s neck prickle. He was fighting the urge to let his attention shift where it seemed naturally inclined to (onto his companion) and risk making awkward eye contact again, so he just stared into the fire stubbornly. They’d been making eye contact a lot recently.

The silence grew too thick and he turned to the Marjun with a scowl, but the prepared ridicule died on his lips when he came face to face with Croach in the flickering dark. He recognized the difference now. It was _heat_. He felt a few pricks of nervous perspiration bead along his brow, and more disturbingly, a rush of blood below his belt buckle.

He quickly shifted away, poking at the fire, but when he resettled the sand was cool beneath him. Had he moved closer? He hadn’t intended to.

Croach did not require an excuse. The dilation of the human’s pupils and the flood of pheromones he was picking up from a dozen different senses were enough to draw him closer to Nevada, his multiple hearts pulsing fast in his extremities.

“Sparks Nevada,” he rumbled in an octave so low it was barely audible to human ears, and the Marshal’s breath stuttered. Croach brushed his fingers down the sharp line of the Marshal’s cheekbone, grazing his adams apple, cupping his jaw and turning his face. He could feel Nevada’s jugular thundering under his thumb.

“Fuck it,” Sparks swore vehemently and grabbed two handfuls of Croach’s animal skin vest, pulling the Martian into a violent kiss. Croach wound his arms around the Marshal’s neck, responding enthusiastically, and both were startled when he fell on top of Sparks Nevada, catching himself on his arms as the human sprawled. His five fingered hands pushed the vest off, and Croach took the hint, shaking his arms free, and untied the green bandana knotted at the hollow of Nevada’s throat. When it came loose he bent down, kissing the damp skin there, and Sparks canted his head back and tried not to think too hard about the surge of arousal that coursed through him.

Croach brushed Sparks’ face lightly with his antennae, sensing which parts of the human’s throat corresponded with the most intense pleasure response, and when he sucked experimentally at the skin beneath the Marshal’s ear Sparks let out a moan. Croach grinned at Sparks as the human colored in mortification.

“You are pleased with my performance, Sparks Nevada?” he teased, and the human cringed and pushed Croach’s face away.

“Oh, jeez, don’t say things like that. Just--just go back to, to...whatever it is you were doin’ with your tongue.”

“I possess two tongues, Sparks Nevada. And I am rather adept at their use,” he all but purred this phrase into Nevada’s skin, and he tensed as he tried to decide how he felt about Croach’s innuendos being directed at him for once. The martian began unbuttoning, pulling open the Marshal’s shirt and trailing a line with one or both of those tongues up the human’s salty skin to one of the (apparently useless) male nipples on either side of Sparks Nevada’s chest. The Red Plains Rider had always responded positively to stimulation of this area, and when he traced his tongues over one Sparks jolted in alarm, sitting up sharply.

“W-What’re you doin’ there?” he asked, his voice somewhere in the panic octave, and Croach flickered his antennae across the human’s chest and gave him a smirk.

“Is the sensation pleasurable? Three of my senses would indicate you experienced pleasure from my stimulation of your--”

“Kay, if’n we’re really gonna do this, you have got to stop talkin’,” he growled, and using a deft flick of his leg he reversed their positions, knocking Croach flat on his back in the soft dirt. He pinned the Martian and ground his hips down, and Croach inhaled in surprise. The hard bulge that sparked electric shivers of pleasure through his body when in contact with his own reproductive organs was _not_ familiar from his encounters with Red, and he hooked his calves around the back of Nevada’s thighs, arching into the contact of gyrating hips.

“So’re we really doin’ this?” Sparks panted as he tried to find places to kiss Croach’s skin that he seemed to like. It was hard to tell and knowing Croach he was quantifying this whole damn experience even as it occurred.

“It is my desire to couple with you, Sparks Nevada,” the Martian replied breathlessly, “if that is what you were asking.”

Sparks untangled himself from Croach’s arms, too turned on to think seriously about this. If he did, he might stop and that sounded like a horrible decision. The martian tried to pull him back down, and Sparks swatted his hands away.

“Let me get outta a few layers, you needy bastard,” he snarked, shrugging out of coat and shirt, and he felt a noticeable jolt of fire when Croach unhooked his belt without breaking eye contact and whipped it out of the belt loops of his jeans deftly. Croach untied the narrow strip of leather that bound the loincloth around his hips, and they both paused, realizing they were probably going to sufficiently ruin their friendship forever in the next few seconds.

“Reckon we oughtta derobe at the same time?” Sparks suggested, and Croach nodded tersely.

“One...two...three!” Sparks thrust down his trousers and Croach tossed open his loincloth, and they both stared for a moment in thinly veiled panic.

“Ohhh, guess that’s why you’n Red couldn’t--”

“Do not finish your statement,” Croach snapped, trying to look anywhere but the thick, oddly shaped protrusion between Nevada’s legs. He had seen glimpses of a human male’s sexual organ before--in human culture they were difficult to avoid--but had never seen one up close, nor quite so...alert.

“I am not anatomically complementary to a human female. I appear to be so to a human male, however, if you do not find me repulsive and wish to be one.”

“I’m not gettin’ into this with you right now, Croach, we’re about to have super weird alien sex but I want it so goddamn much that I don’t even think it’s gross. Now let’s do this before we regain our sanity and change our minds.”

Croach pulled Sparks down on top of him, tangling thick fingers in the human’s wild locks, and Croach introduced Nevada’s mouth to his pair of tongues. Sparks wasn’t exactly sure what to do with his hands, and sensing his partner’s uncertainty Croach took them gently, guiding them to his hips where the swollen, sensitive glands of his egg sacs reacted pleasurably to Nevada’s hesitant but familiar touch.

“This is...less gross than I remember it being,” he rasped, but his teasing broke off in a hiss when Croach reached between them to grip his erection, _hard_.

“Whoa, ease up there partner,” he squeaked, and Croach lightened the pressure and gave an experimental stroke. He paused to let his partner explore, sending zaps of pleasure up the human’s spine.

“Do you wish to expose our feet to one another?” Croach asked in a breathy pant, and Sparks rolled off of him, kicking free of his trousers and yanking off his boots. He wiggled his toes and poked the Martian’s leg with his foot, and Croach swallowed with difficulty as he felt a wave of awakening in his nether regions.

Then, to his shock, Sparks took the Martian’s moccasined feet in his lap, sliding them off slowly, sensually, and massaging the touch soles of Croach’s feet. He heard a moan bubble from his throat, and Sparks grinned devilishly.

“You like that?” he asked cheekily, and tweaked one of Croach’s four toes with a smirk. Croach yelped, eight of his pleasure senses responding to the sensation, and he jerked his feet out of the Marshal’s hands. He clambered up onto Nevada’s lap, pushing his sweaty hair from his face, flushed in the orange light.

“I wish to take you inside my body, Sparks Nevada. Become one with me,” he breathed, and the Marshal’s cock twitched in anticipation. He slid his hands to Croach’s hips, palms massaging his distended eggsacs, and nudged the head of his erection against the narrow slit at the junction of torso and thigh. The Martian spread his legs wider and eased down slowly onto Sparks Nevada. The human inhaled slowly, trying to resist the urge to force himself deep and hard into the wet heat enveloping him--Croach was deliciously, impossibly tight, and whatever natural (sorta gross) alien lubrication his body produced had a tingle to it that he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to think about.

“Ohhhmygod, Croach,” he groaned when the Martian rocked his hips up and back down, somehow managing to take Sparks even deeper until his head finally came into contact with flesh and stopped, fully sheathed inside.

Croach lifted and dropped his hips again, but it was too slowly and provided far too little friction, and Sparks hooked the Martian’s legs over his hips and lay him carefully on his back before grounding his toes and ramming home. They worked out a rhythm, and neither lasted long through the writhing, thrusting dance of clutching fingers and hot breath.

Croach came first, his back arching sharply as he uttered an obscene moan, and Sparks buried his guttural cry of “Win--nnnh!” in the Martian’s neck as he followed suit, pulsing hot and sticky inside Croach.

“Winner,” he panted, and Croach pushed his face away with an irritated sigh. There was very little after-glow or postcoital cuddling; the cold and their growing shock with their own actions drove them to wipe down and redress in silence, avoiding eye contact for the most part.

“Will this incident fall under the category of never being spoken of again?” Croach ventured after too long had passed to claim nonchalance. Sparks rubbed the back of his neck, prodding the coals back to life with one hand as he put his hat back on.

“I’d rather we not talk about it to other people. They already got weird notions about you’n me.”

“Which are true, now.”

“Oh...well yeah, sorta. But I guess you’n I can talk about it, if’n we’re alone.” The tips of Nevada’s human ears turned pink as he said it, and Croach smiled slightly.

“It will be what you designate, ‘our little secret?’”

“...somethin’ like that, yeah. Our little secret.”

~

**Author's Note:**

> Drop a request for any drabbles you'd like to see in the comments, Adventurekateers!


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